Rage
by BandGeek987
Summary: Hera hated Hercules from the very day he was born. All his life she has been after him, trying to make him miserable. Her plan works perfectly that one day she filled him with rage.


"_And I myself am the murderer of my dearest?" I asked the man in front of me. Amphitryon was his name, I recalled._

"_Yes, but you were out of your mind," he replied nervously, almost as if he thought he was next._

"_Shall I spare my own life then? I will avenge upon myself these deaths," I said ignoring his quivering excuse._

_And there he was, standing there with understanding eyes, and a sorrow filled face. He took my hand and told me he would share my grief. He told me to be strong, and live on. I looked upon his face with gratitude, and replied, "Thank you Theseus."_

_I walked away from him and into my house. I had to see them. A punishment to myself. Never again would a day go by that I wasn't horrified about this._

Rage. It was the blinding, horrible, punishing rage that made me do it. I could remember nothing but the anger that filled my entire soul. The blood was still on my hands, dripping to the floor leaving a small puddle of red. Lying in front of me were two of my sons mangled, bloody, dead. I had done that with my two hands. I had torn them to pieces. The blood was everywhere, falling down the walls, sitting on the floor, splattered on the ceiling.

The bile was rising from my stomach and I had to fight to keep it down. The stars outside were twinkling mockingly to me, _you deserve this_, they seemed to be saying. _Hera!_ I thought to myself. She has always had it out for me.

My middle son, I could still see the horror that must have been in his eyes as he died by my hands. My oldest barely had a face left. It was scratched so bad that you could see the bone in many places. No inch of skin on either of their bodies was the normal pale, but all crimson. The blood was drying and making them look like rotting corpses on a battlefield. Both of their eyes were staring at me, watching my every move. Again I felt the bile rising up, but this time I ran outside and let my stomach make the better of me, throwing up what seemed like every meal I had ever ate in my life. I could feel the eyes of all the people gathered around my home, and I quietly wiped the vomit from my mouth. Blankly I stared into the faces of those around me, and I walked back into the house.

I stepped over my two son's lifeless bodies and farther down the hall. One door was wide open and broken. I walked on knowing what would be lying inside. My wife, Megara, was sprawled across the floor with little blood on her, except for the huge circle coming from her stomach. I looked to the floor beside her and saw my sword lying there, covered in blood. Her eyes were closed and she had a pained look on her face. I forced myself to look away from her, and onto my youngest son. He was only seven years old, but it didn't matter, he was dead now. Slaughtered. All over his body were tiny, but deep little cuts. Each one had blood running from it, and underneath his body the entire floor was covered in all the blood from my son's body. I can hear in my mind the tortured screaming that must have come from his small innocent mouth. Dead, they were all dead.

"Why?" Came a whispered question from behind me. My head snapped around and saw Megara looking weakly my way. I ran to her and grabbed her fragile hand softly.

"Meg, it was Hera, she filled me with rage. I can never forgive myself for this, and I know that even in death you will not forgive me. But I hope you will be in peace. I love you Megara," I whispered softly to her dying ears.

Her death was quick. She did not mutter a soft 'I love you' before she went. No sweet farewells. We sat together for a few minutes and all of a sudden she took in a loud ridged breath, and no more came after that.

I carried all of my family outside, and dug them each graves myself. That was a small thing I could do to help repay for what I had done. I buried them each all in a row, and wept for days on end upon their graves. Finally one day Theseus came back and pulled me from their graves.

"Let us go Hercules. Let us leave this place of mourning, and move on. Let us go away, and make this up to those who have been hurt. Let us free ourselves of guilt and sorrow, and be liberated. Let us go."

And so we went.


End file.
